


Bench Marks

by pikasafire



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Post-Trade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikasafire/pseuds/pikasafire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prusty doesn't even seem to notice that Brian misses him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bench Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the start of the 2013 season. Boyle/Prust, with very slight hints of future Boyle/Del Zotto.

Trades are hard. Really, really hard. Brian's not stupid, he's been playing in the NHL for a while now - he's seen guys come and go. He's been traded and had to move cross country. Trades pretty much suck.

And so when it's announced that Prusty is being sent to Montreal, Brian's heart sinks. He joins the others with the quiet commiserations, the reassurances that they'll keep in touch, they'll still be friends. Brandon takes it well, grinning and joking that at least he'll be away from their stupid ugly faces.

Brian goes to see him later that night. Brandon opens the door, looking surprised to see him. Even more surprised when Brian leans down and kisses him; A little startled noise and Brandon kisses him back, standing on tip toes. "Guess I don't need to ask what you're doing here." Brandon grins, pulling Brian inside. "Sit down you fucking giant."

It's not something they do often and Brian's not stupid. He knows this is a convenience thing for Brandon. It doesn't mean the same thing it means for Brian, but the thought that this might be the last time; that Brandon will be getting on a fucking plane tomorrow to Montreal. It makes his stomach clench, his hands rougher than usual. Brandon doesn't seem to mind as he straddles Brian's lap.

They lie together afterwards, Brian's hand low on Brandon's stomach. It's as close to cuddling as he can get and he'll take anything at this point. He's aware it's more than a little pathetic.

Brandon yawns, stretches. "I should pack a suitcase." He says, groaning. "I hate packing."

"Can I stay?"

Brandon gives him a weird look. "I've got a plane at fucking ass'o'clock in the morning, man."

"I'll drive you." Brian says, maybe a little too quickly. "Saves you getting a taxi."

Brandon laughs, "Yeah, okay. But if you complain about getting up at four am, I'll punch you in the junk."

"Deal."

*

It's like any other time they've gone to the airport and Brian keeps thinking that it should be heavier, or that it should feel different. This is the last time they'll ever do this. But they drive in silence, Brandon half asleep in the passager seat, clutching his coffee like a lifeline and listing a little to the side. Brian drives, tapping his fingers along with the radio.

Brandon wakes up enough to chirp Brian about his lack of rhythm, his shit taste in music. It's comfortable. And far too soon when they pull in at the drop off zone at the airport.

"This is me." Brandon says, more awake now.

"I'm going to miss you." Brian says. He can't quite make himself look at Brandon. Not if he wants to get through this with any dignity intact.

Brandon just laughs. "Don't be pathetic," he teases, "it's fuckin' Montreal. Not Australia." He grabs the backpack from his feet. "Thanks for the ride, man. We'll catch up soon, yeah?" He opens the door, and Brian can't help it, reaching out to grab Brandon's arm.

"Wait." He says, pulling Brandon close and kissing him with an edge of desperation.

Brandon lets him, kisses back for a second before pulling away with a raised eyebrow, "Dude, there are people about."

"Sorry." Brian really couldn't care less but he lets Brandon pull away and get out, getting his stuff.

"Catch you on the flip side." Brandon says with a grin, backpack on and suitcase ready. And it's flippant and so _Brandon_ , Brian's heart clenches.

"Yeah." He says, watching Brandon walk away.

*

Trades happen all the fucking time. And maybe it's not that often that the guy Brian's in love with is traded, but it's still no excuse for him to play like shit.

And he really, really is.

He texts Brandon daily. Stupid things, the occasional whine, //cant find the back of the net.// he sends, //playing like shit//.

//noticed ;)// Brandon sends back. //relax itll come//

It makes it worse to see Brandon smiling and laughing with his new team, the pictures of him in his new uniform, the texts Brandon sends him about the Gally's and pictures of his new stall. He looks _happy_. And it's not that Brian doesn't want him to be, but it's hard to see when Brian's still in New York, feeling a whole lot like his heart's been ripped out.

Tortorella pulls him to the side after practice and Brian's kind of expecting it. Keeps his head down anyway.

"You're playing like shit, Brian." John says, "I'm benching you next game." Fuck. Brian stays silent. There's not really anything he can say to that. He knows he's not playing well enough. "You're missing the net, you're fucking up passes that a rookie could make. And it's not just you, the others are playing like shit too. But they're at least scoring. You're not blocking shots, you're not winning face offs." John sighs "Is this about Prust?"

Brian shrugs and stares at the floor. He's not going to make excuses.

John takes his silence as a yes. "Trades are hard, Brian. But you don't see the others playing like shit because we've lost Prusty." He softens a little. "I know you were friends, I know it's hard. But it's no excuse."

"I know." Brian says, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Play better. Don't make me do this again."

"Yes, Coach."

"Good. Get out of here."

He keeps his head down in the locker room and the guys leave him alone, the miserable expression on his face clearly enough for the guys to piece together what happened.

//benched next game// he sends Brandon, chest tight. Then a quick //I miss u//

//sux man :(// Brandon sends back. Brian sits in his stall; waits for the second text.

It never comes.

*

Falling in love with Brandon Prust is definitely the stupidest thing he's ever done. And with twelve siblings, Brian's done a lot of stupid shit in his life.

They're playing the Habs in Montreal on the 23rd and Brian's stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of seeing Brandon. Their texts have slowed down to a couple a week and Brian wonders if it isn't for the best. He feels like an asshole, but it's hard to see Brandon so happy when Brian's never been so miserable.

They lose spectacularly. Brian gets less than ten minutes on the ice; even the rookie gets more than him, and he spends most of the game with his eyes focused on the floor in front of him. Gabby sits next to him, only plays eleven minutes, also a victim of Tortorella's anger. It's a massacre, frustrating and Brian's never felt so helpless before. He can't keep playing like this and he doesn't know what to _do_.

Brandon's waiting for them all after the game, bright smiles and infectious laughter and it's too hard to not smile back. They go out afterwards with a dire warning from Coach that if any of them are hungover the next day, he'll bag skate the fuck out of them. It's a bit more subdued that usual, but it feels so damn good to see Brandon again; sometimes Brian seems to forget how big the feeling is, clogging his lungs and making it hard to breathe. They end up taking over a booth in some shitty bar, all crammed into a too-small space, Brandon plastered up against Brian's side. Fuck, he smells good.

"I need to piss." Brandon announces, two beers in.

Brian thinks quickly, makes a decision. "Um, I need to piss too." He says, sliding out of the booth, following Brandon through the dense crowd into the overly bright men's room.

It's automatic to push Brandon up against the wall, kissing him hard, sliding his palm around the back of Brandon's neck. Brian's never wanted someone so badly before in his life.

"You can't be that hard up, Boyler." Brandon teases, pulling his mouth away and reaching up to tug affectionately at one of Brian's curls.

And Brian's only had one beer but apparently it's one too many because the words fall out of his mouth, "It was never about that. You know that."

Brandon's face shutters a little. "What do you mean?"

There's no other way out of this and it's like the floodgates have opened. He surges forward, kissing Brandon hard before pulling away to look at him "Do you get it now?" he says desperately. He always thought that when he said something, it would be roses and romance, tangled together in bed, content and happy. Not ringing, overly loud in a men's bathroom in fucking Montreal. It's matter of fact, obvious and maybe it's never been said but surely, Brian figures, even Brandon isn't that fucking oblivious.

"Fuck." Brandon says, eyes wide. "Brian, I can't-" He takes a breath and a big step back, "Jesus. This is really not the place." Wiping his hands on his jeans, he looks Brian in the eye, "I can't, _we_ can't."

"Why?" And if it sounds a whole lot like begging, no one can blame him.

"Do we have to do this now?" Brandon asks, looking warily at the door.

Brian knows Brandon has a point, but he can't leave it. "C'mon. Kiss me?"

Brandon looks away. "I don't think that's a good idea." He turns and busies himself with washing his hands, glances up at Brian's reflection. He sighs. "Bri. It's not-"

The door opens and DZ freezes in the doorway. “Am I interrupting something?” He asks, uncertain. It probably looks pretty bad.

"No," Brandon says, not looking at Brian. "I'm done." And he walks out.

_Ouch_

"Brian? You okay?" DZ asks.

"Yeah." Brian says. It's a pretty obvious lie. "I'm gonna go back to the hotel. Coach is mad enough at me, I'm going to try and get a good night's sleep."

"Want company?"

Brian shakes his head, still staring at the tiles on the floor. "I'll be fine on my own."

*

He doesn't sleep well. They've got a few hours in the morning before they have to catch the train and so Brian texts Brandon at some hideous time of the morning. //Breakfast b4 we go? I'm buying.//

It takes about ten minutes for an answer to arrive. //ur a horible person. too fuckn early// then //meet u in 10 at ur hotel//

Brian takes a deep breath, levers himself out of bed to scrounge for some clothes and make sure his bags are ready. It's not like he can just _leave_ without getting a proper answer.

Brandon is the champion of not letting things get to him and so he chatters happily through breakfast like last night never happened, a mixture of things that have happened on the team, stories about home and gentle mocking of Brian's hockey skills. It makes Brian's heart hurt a little. He _wants_ this so badly.

He checks his watch an hour later. He should probably get back to the hotel. "So." He says uncomfortably. "About last night." He trails off, content to let Brandon fill the gaps.

Brandon sighs, like he was expecting Brian to drop it. "Look, I sleep around, Brian. You know that."

"I don't care." It's a lie. Of course it's a lie. He wants _all_ of Brandon to himself, but if he can't have it, then he'll just take what he can get.

"Don't," Brandon snaps, "Don't _do that_. I'm not worth that."

Brian stares, startled. "I didn't mean- "

It seems to be all Brandon needs to get angry. "Why did you have to do this?" He demands, hissed quietly over the table.

Wow, okay, Brian's at least ninety eight percent certain he wants this conversation to end about now. "I didn't _mean to_." He snaps back.

Brandon runs his hand over his face, looking tired. "I'm sorry." He says after a moment. "I just-" he holds out his hands. "I didn't mean to make you fall in love with me, dude." He tries to crack a smile, "I'm pretty great, I know. But," he shrugs, "I'm not gay."

He knows he should shut up, but Brian’s hurt, angry that this isn’t working the way it’s supposed to. "Really? Because I remember you fucking me up the ass more than a few times."

Brandon looks uncomfortable. "I fuck anything that moves. "It's-"

"It's okay." Brian interrupts, gathering his coat and standing up. It's really not. But there's no point in prolonging this. “I’ll get over it."

They part ways and its weird and awkward in a way it's never been and why the fuck did Brian have to say _anything_. But Brandon reaches up, gives Brian a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, man."

*

DZ catches him at practice a few days later, hovering nearby for a few minutes like he's trying to work up the courage, and then skates over "You and Prusty. You guys were together, yeah?" He asks quietly as they wait for their turn at the shootout drill.

Brian looks at him, a pause as he tries to figure out what the hell DZ's asking. "Depends on what you mean by together." He says cautiously, looking around to make sure no one’s paying attention to them.

DZ lowers his voice. "Y'know. _together_." Brian knows that DZ isn't one of the assholes that'll make his life hell if he says yes, but it's not something that's well known and its not really something he wants spread about. "It's just." DZ adds hastily, must see the apprehension on Brian's face. "It must be hard. I just wanted you to know that I'm... y'know, here. If you want to talk."

"About Prusty?"

"I don’t know. Yeah, if you want."

Brian's confused. "Why?"

DZ shrugs awkwardly. "We’re friends. You look a bit down, that's all." But he's not quite looking him in the eyes. "Just. Think about it."

He skates off for his turn on net and Brian's genuinely not sure what just happened

It probably shouldn't catch him by surprise then when DZ nudges him as they're running drills. "So. We should hang out."

"Um." _What_ "Yeah. Sure. When?"

"After practice? Doing anything?"

“No?” It’s not meant to be a question, but Brian’s a little thrown. He and DZ are friends, for sure, but it’s been low key recently. Kind of like with Brandon gone, it wasn’t the same.

DZ just smiles at him, “Come on over to mine. We’ll play Xbox and drink shit beer.”

*

They're trying to be normal, sitting on the couch in DZ's apartment with shitty beer and Die Hard; because DZ's pretty vocal in his insistence that Die Hard can fix everything.

It's like a sitcom, everything feels a little too forced; Brian trying too hard to be okay, and DZ trying to hard to be... whatever.

About half an hour into the film, Brian can't take it anymore. "Why do you care so much?" He doesn't mean for it to sound as accusing as it probably does.

DZ isn't quite looking him in the face, peeling at the label of his beer bottle. "You're a friend." He says after an overly long pause. "And you're pretty fuckin' miserable."

It's not the whole story, and Brian knows it. "What aren't you telling me? Did Brandon call you? Did he put you up to this?"

"Don't be stupid." DZ says, looking hurt. "I just... I like you a lot. That's all." It's reluctant, clear than DZ doesn't want to talk about it.

Oh. _Oh._ "Okay." Brian says, reaching out for his beer and the XBox controller. "Wanna play COD?" It's like the tension that's been hanging over them has broken.

DZ smiles over at him, grabs the other remote and settles maybe just that little bit too close. "I'm gonna kick your ass."

*

Scoring his first goal is like flying.

He can breathe again, the crash of bodies into his own, the smell of the ice and the cheer of the crowd. It fills the hole a little; not completely, but it’s a relief. He’s not broken. He’s not going to be kicked off the team, he's not going to shatter into a million pieces. It's not the same with Brandon gone, but it's not bad either.

“You’ll be alright.” DZ says, knocking his shoulder, a little smile. And for the first time, Brian thinks DZ might actually be right.

*

END


End file.
